


External Comfort

by heatgeneratingtechniques



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Hugs, I Don't Even Know, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Short & Sweet, enjoy, just wanted to add my two cents to the pile of hank/con fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatgeneratingtechniques/pseuds/heatgeneratingtechniques
Summary: Connor has some trouble articulating what he needs.





	External Comfort

Connor thinks too much.

He can’t  _ not  _ think. Not with the way he was designed.

He and Hank have been working and living together for a year now, working overtime to help Detroit get back to normal — or whatever “normal” has become, now that androids and humans are tentatively on equal footing. They run themselves ragged, tracking down missing children, recovering stolen property, solving the occasional murder. At night, they come home and collapse.

Or rather, Hank collapses. Fast asleep on the couch with his clothes still on (despite Connor’s insistence that he take a shower), or sprawled on the bed in nothing but his underwear and his mouth gaping open as he snored.

Connor thinks. He sits at the table with his hands folded, or he absently pets Sumo on the couch, and his LED flickers between yellow and blue. He thinks back on the day’s events and wonders about plans for the week ahead. It helps him to smooth over any irregularities in his processes if he can sit and think.

Hank prepared the spare bedroom for him, but Connor doesn’t see the need to feign sleep. He prefers to spend the nights awake and alert.

It’s not perfect, but he enjoys this arrangement. Hank isn’t perfect, but there’s something about his messy humanity that intrigues Connor. Makes him want to stay close. When Hank grins at him or grumbles at him to stop nagging or mutters a gruff compliment, it feels—

It feels...

It  _ feels. _

Connor likes that.

He likes it even more when Hank shuffles into the kitchen one morning, fumbling for the coffee pot, and mutters, “We need to get you some new clothes. You’re like a goddamn schoolboy in that suit.”

They go shopping together, Connor going through racks and racks of clothes, downloading fashion trends and excitedly explaining the importance of the French tuck to Hank, who’s nursing his fourth cup of coffee.

“What do you think of this one, Hank?” He steps out of the fitting room, clad in a simple black V-neck and jeans.

Hank only grunts. “Decent.”

He’s hard to read sometimes, even though Connor automatically registers his pulse and body temperature.

“Do you not like it?” Mentally, he scans his newly downloaded information for different outfit ideas. “I can try something else—”

“No, Connor.” Hank’s voice is a little too loud. He clears his throat. “No,” he says again. “I like it. You look good.”

His heart rate is elevated slightly. Connor smiles.

“Thank you, Hank.”

There are some night when thinking makes Connor want to  _ do something. _ Hank finally convinced him to change out of his uniform at night into an old t-shirt and pajama bottoms, so he paces the house barefoot. Sumo watches him sleepily from his dog bed.

One night, it gets to be too much. It’s like his head is full of bees. He’s so aware of the pulse of his Thirium pump that he can almost imagine that it  _ hurts. _ And suddenly, he doesn’t want to think anymore.

He knocks on Hank’s bedroom door.

“What?”

“May I come in?”

There’s a grunt that could be either yes or no. Connor enters the room.

Hank’s in bed, beneath the sheets for once, scrolling on his phone.

“Something wrong, Connor?”

“I desire... I-I think I need external comfort.”

Hank doesn’t say anything for a full eight seconds.

“What now?”

“External comfort.”

Hank looks more puzzled than anything else. “You want... you want a hug or somethin’? Um, well come here, I guess.”

He gets out of bed. He’s just wearing a tank top and his boxers.

For once in his brief existence, Connor isn’t sure what to do. He waits as Hank shuffles towards him, stands stiffly as Hank awkwardly puts both arms around him and pats him on the back.

“You alright, Connor?”

No. He’s  _ not _ alright, and that’s precisely why he’s here. Connor mirrors Hank’s motion, wrapping long arms around him. Yes,  _ this  _ is what he needs. This is what he’s been wanting.

Gradually, his thought processes settle into their familiar, orderly fashion. Connor breaks the hug first, steps back.

“You thought that was awkward,” he says. “I’m sorry, Hank. It appears that I may be in need of external regulation to keep me functioning properly.”

Hank’s eyes narrow. His expression is, once again, difficult to read. Finally, he huffs out a laugh.

“You don’t need to make up excuses to get a hug, Connor. Physical contact... well that’s something most humans need. Just ask like a normal person instead of like an android and I’ll give you one.”

A few days later, Connor finds Hank in the break room at the office and declares that he wants a hug. Fortunately, Hank is the only one in the room, but he still flicks a napkin halfheartedly in Connor’s direction and tells him to shut the fuck up.

Somehow, hugging becomes an almost nightly thing. Hank embraces him before heading to bed, leaving Connor with the ghost of his touch and scent to keep him company through the night. Hank starts touching him more often during the day, too. A hand on the shoulder, a nudge on the arm. Sometimes he stands closer than seems necessary when he talks, but Connor doesn’t mind. Being near Hank helps him feel that everything is under control.

It isn’t enough. Connor finds himself thinking again of other forms of physical intimacy. He begins spending his nights reading about public displays of affection. And one evening, as Hank shuffles to him for an embrace, Connor makes his request.

“Please kiss me.”

That throws Hank off-balance, both literally and figuratively. He trips over his own feet, throws out a hand to catch himself on the table before Connor can get to him.

“Come again?” he asks, and now Connor definitely registers that his heartbeat and breathing are both markedly elevated.

“Please kiss me,” Connor says again. “I’ve been studying human affection and I think it might be beneficial for us to try it.”

Hank lets out a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical.

“Don’t you... don’t you mess with me, Connor.”

“I’m serious, Hank.” Connor steps forward. “You’re the closest person to me, and I feel a deep affection for you. Please.”

It takes some time to talk Hank down from his excitement.

“Been a long time since I’ve locked lips with anyone,” he says finally, his eyes on the floor. “But you want me anyway, huh?”

Connor nods.

So they do.

When Hank’s hands grip Connor’s shoulders as he leans in, when their lips make proper contact, it’s like Connor’s world slots into place.  _ This _ is what he’s been looking for. This is what his lonely deviant self has been missing, even though he couldn’t put a name to it.

When they break apart, Hank’s already blushing. Connor just feels more awake and alive than he ever has.

“You don’t know how goddamn long I’ve wanted to do that,” Hank murmurs.

Connor tugs him closer, fingers curling lightly into Hank’s sides.

“Please kiss me again.” His voice sounds as if it’s coming from very far away. He clutches at the fabric of Hank’s t-shirt, as if they’ll somehow become irretrievably separated. “Please?”

Hank takes the lead this time. He smells like alcohol and sweat like  _ always _ , but there’s something beneath that Connor craves. Something about Hank that he never, ever wants to be parted from.

He needs this.

They both need it.

Hank’s eyes are glassy when he finally pulls away. He chuckles to himself.

“Goddamn.”

Connor senses Hank's heartbeat, loud in the silence between them.

“More?” he whispers, and for a moment he wonders if Hank might turn him down. “Please?”

Instead, Hank mutters, “Goddamn,” again.

Connor freezes. “Is something wrong?”

“N-no. Not at all.” Hank shakes his head, he gives Connor a lopsided grin. His voice is trembling, but Connor isn’t sure why. “There’s, uh, there’s some other stuff... oh fuck. Listen. Do you, uh... do you just wanna come to bed with me?”

Connor nods. He’d researched all of this, he’d already made up his mind that he wanted it.

Hank leads him to the bedroom by the hand.

And for a few bright moments, he doesn’t think at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is different from my usual type of fics, but still fun to write! Just had to get this off my chest after reading so many DBH fics this weekend. :) Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://lunar-winterlude.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
